Forget Me Not
by Shamelessly Radiant
Summary: ONE-SHOT: My submission for the Spring Challenge on Tomione Kink Meme (Tumblr). The prompt: AU where Hermione is pretty sure her new flatmate, Tom, is the serial killer/mass murderer who's made the news everyday for the past months.


**Forget Me Not - Spring Challenge Submission**

 **Prompt:** AU where Hermione is pretty sure her new flatmate, Tom, is the serial killer/mass murderer who's made the news everyday for the past months.

 **Warnings:** Mayor Character Death, Minor Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence.

 **A/N:** So, I took some creative freedom with this prompt, so you'll have to wait and see. I want to thank Ibuzoo a million, _million_ times, without her this would have not existed. I was close to simply giving it up entirely and not participating. She's the most wonderful beta I could have ever wished for, and honestly, I feel like this is more a collaboration than a one-man's-work. I did all the writing, but she helped me to come up with a large part of the prompt. Credits for the cover also go to her.

Thank you to whoever submitted this wonderful prompt, I had loads of fun with it, and I hope you enjoy it as well! And also a thank you to Tomionekinkmeme, this is the first challenge I have participated in, and I hope there will be many more.

On to the story now.. Enjoy!

* * *

Bright, white light. She blinks, fast, willing her eyes to adjust, and raises a hand to shield them but.. she can't?

She can't.

She can't move her arm.

She can't move her arm _because she is tied up._

Hermione jerks her head around so fast her neck cracks, sending a jolt of pain into her brain, and tugs, tugs at her arms.

It is no use.

They have been tied at the back of the high backed chair she is sitting in, and it's an expert's knot, because the rope only gets tighter when she pulls on it. When it starts burning, she tries to relax them and instead looks around.

She takes a second to catalogue where she is. The bright light is coming from a huge window in a white diagonal wall, and the other three walls are wood panelled. The floor her bare feet are resting on is wood too, and she takes a second to appreciate that at least she is in a sunny attic and not tied naked to a wall in a humid, dark basement somewhere.

 _Though that could still be arranged,_ an ugly voice inside her whispers.

Her face contorts, and she shakes her head at herself-

She tenses up mid movement.

"It seems you have gotten yourself in quite the bind, Hermione" a male voice says softly.

Oh God.

He is _so._ N _ot._ Funny.

And yet.

It is the understatement of the century

 ** _In Between_**

 _It's funny, no?_

 _How much we rely on our senses._

 _Take one away and everything is not quite right.. there is something lacking, we become.._ _ **unbalanced.**_

 _Let's take hearing, for example. Have you ever experienced true silence? I don't mean the kind you find on a lazy, quiet afternoon, feet propped up beneath a blanket, book in your lap and chirping birds. I mean real silence, where you can hear your heart beating and wonder if it has always been this loud._

 _Because your surroundings seem frozen,_ _ **awaiting**_ _, and if you just make one tiny sound, if your clothes rustle just too loud or your heel comes down just to hard you just know something will-_ _ **snap.**_

 _You flinch. That was loud. Your eyes swivel around to try to make up for your lost hearing. Was that someone's breathing? Was that someone's laugh?_

 _Now if you are home, it is easy. You turn on the light, turn on the radio, shrug it off. But if you are going somewhere you start walking faster. You dig your cell phone out of your bag, and relax a little, it's weight a comforting presence in your hands. To know that you are only one button away to safety, to the police, to your mum, your dad, your older sister._

 _You breathe in, breathe out and laugh a little, but quietly. Because the silence is still unnatural, because there is still a sound that's different from the ringing in your ears, the beating of your heart and the tapping of your heels._

 _You shrug it off._

 _You ignore it. (Your instincts are screaming at you to fight or flight. You ignore them too.)_

 ** _Wrong._**

 _You should never ignore your instincts._

 **139 Days Before**

Harry's text urges her to turn on the news, and together with Ginny she curls up on the white couch, checks the date, indeed. Seven weeks since researcher Evelyn Bosco died. Was _murdered._

"For those of you who have been living under a _rock_ , " starts the tired-looking detective, with a harsh look towards the journalist on scene, "It was confirmed that we are dealing with a serial killer. Though there is little forensic evidence, there are some clear facts- _we cannot disclose_ ," he raises his eyebrows impatiently and the journalist closes her mouth, "- that have proven the same man or woman is responsible for the murders. The brutal, ritualistic aspect to the murders and the fact that he seems to be a _ghost_ have earned him the label The Voldemort Killer-"

"Since he is apparently trying to flee from death, and is very much succeeding in being invisible. A name he seems to fully approve of, if my inside information is correct, Detective Kingsley?"

"If you have so much _inside information_ , miss, then I really don't see why you need to perform an interview _again._ You have talked about these cases _every day_ this month."

"Oooh, he's _touchy._ ' Ginny comments next to her, sipping on her cocoa.

"Fully understandable," Hermione retorts. The press has been dealing atrociously bad with this case. They have been getting in the police's way, disclosing information that should not be known, and not to mention the _disrespect_ they have showed to the victims and their fami-"

Hermione falls silent when the picture of the victims flash on screen. Jacqueline Bosco is the third victim already, and the most brutal of them all.

"When I get my law degree I'll sue the press-" Ginny starts, but Hermione shushes her quickly.

"The inside information has been confirmed by special-agent Ramsey. The killer did indeed write the name ' _Voldemort'_ with her blood on the scene. Various times."

"It can be said he likes the name then, Rita?"

"Oh, certainly" the blonde journalist answers, "that or he really hates it. What is sure is that he is becoming famous notoriously quickly, and that he has already killed _three_ times. So the question is.. will the police be able to catch The Voldemort Killer before he strikes again?

'Thank you for listening, this was Rita Skeeter with the urgent evening news, I now give the word to my fellow colleague Thomas Kyle. We are the 23rd of February."

"Thank you, Ri-"

Hermione turns the TV off, to Ginny's disgruntlement.

"Oh, Sorry, Gin. Here" she passes her friend the remote and then stands up, stretching, "I'm going to sleep. I'm tired."

Ginny hums but frowns disbelievingly.

Hermione stays up till two in the morning, writing and revising her notes on The Voldemort Killer.

 **137 Days Before**

"Hermione, Hermione!"

Hermione looks up, almost slaps her face as she rubs her eyes quickly, waking up from her nap.

"Hermione!"

A red whirlwind pulls her up and around, spinning her, spinning her until she starts laughing and they crash down on the wooden floor, still laughing.

"What happened?" Hermione asks, a laugh in her voice.

"Heaskedmetmovin!"

"Wait, wait, what?"

"He asked me to move in!" Ginny squeals.

"Oh, Gin, I'm so happy for you!" Hermione says, hugging the other girl, "Wait, but, you aren't going to abandon me, are you?"

Ginny laughs, "I'm staying for February and if you want I'll pay the rent for March, but I'm moving out the last day of this month."

"Oh don't be silly, you don't have to pay March if you're not staying... I'll just have to look into loans or a job or whatever"

"Or take a roommate." Ginny winks.

Hermione laughs "Sure, I'll ask Harry."

It earns her a pinch in the knee and after much laughing they agree to go out to celebrate.

 **135 Days Before**

"Yes, Harry, I know, but I am not going to live of your money! No, no, I mean how is it _your_ fault? Yes, you love Ginny and you want to live with her, but that's hardly a fault."

She listens patiently as he explains _again_ why he feels it is so much needed of him to help and why she has to accept his money.

"No, listen it's all rig-"

"Hermione. The bank will not want to help you."

"Yes I _know_ the bank doesn't want to give me a loan but I'll.. I'll figure something out, okay? I'll look for a new roommate or whatever. Yes, that's it. I'll place the add in the paper tomorrow."

"Hermione-"

" _No_ , Harry. I've made up my mind. Let's.. let's talk about something else. How is the Voldemort case going along?"

He snorts, and she winces at the loudness of it through the phone. "That's hardly a more pleasant subject... We still have no evidence whatsoever. He is a _ghost_. The only people who see him are his victims, and then it's too late. Jacqueline had _no eyes,_ and her blood used to write his name. Poor Evelyn was choked with her own scarf, unable to resist because she was weak from the torture. _Torture_ Hermione. Tortured with broken fingers and pulled out nails until she revealed the place she kept her research. The press has not been helpful _at all_ talking about him every. Single. Day. We have not been sleeping, and I've barely been able to spend time with Ginny, with _you._ "

"Well.. maybe I can help again. I _am_ the most promising Criminology student, you know."

He sighs on the other end.

"He's _dangerous,_ Hermione," his voice is sad.

"Wha- of course he is, Harry. It's not like I'm going after him or anything."

"Oh, come on! You made him your papers subject while he is _still roaming_. Don't you think that is calling him to you?! You're basically offering yourself to him on a _golden platter!_ We have high evidence Jacqueline had discovered something about him, since she was of no use at all to his project."

"She was Evelyn's niece, no?"

"Yes, but he already knew everything from Evelyn herself, from her journals. Jacqueline was simply digging to deep, and she paid the price."

"Well, it's not like someone beside you knows! I didn't even tell Ginny or Ron. It's highly private. Only my Professor knows, and he finds it an interesting challenge for me."

"Hermione," Harry sounds urgent, like he wills her to _get it_ , but she already does, she gets it more than even he could get it and she has no way of explaining it to him, of telling him exactly- , "no one was supposed to know about Adrian's family legacy or Evelyn's research. It was highly confident and yet he found out. This man is.. he is something else. I would really rather you'd drop it."

"Harry," she laughs, "It's not like I'm obsessed with him or anything.. just interested you know? He's one of the biggest cases since Jack the Ripper, you could say."

There is a long silence and Hermione clenches the horn tighter in her hand, wanting to see his expression, to know what he is thinking.

"I'll have to wait until Kingsley is away before I show you more" he says finally, and Hermione cheers inwardly, "and that fool Ramsey is not lurking around again, waiting for something else to disclose and have his one second of fame. I think it won't be long before he is fired. But we have so little resources already."

"What about Ron?" she asks, pitying her friends desperate tone.

"Ron," he laughs, "he is really good at the department, but not on cases like these. Ron is impulsive, not as thoughtful of details. You do remember how much he liked research at school right?"

Hermione laughs, remembering various instants with a disgruntled Ron bend once more over essays to write.

"Let me know when you can, then, and we'll meet up."

"Sure thing, Hermione. Love you."

The' love you' sounds concerned again, and Hermione sighs.

"You too, Harry. Bye"

"Bye!"

Hermione puts down the phone and decides to clean up Ginny's room for her future new roommate.

 **129 Days before**

Hermione is stuffing a muffing into her mouth as she is tugging on her shoe with her other hand when the call comes.

Her bag is slipping down the arm of the hand that is tugging on her shoe and she still hasn't been able to drink her coffee and she needs to brush her teeth, she is late and _why is someone calling now?_

She almost chokes on the blueberries when she swallows the muffin in one go and rummages in her fallen bag with the other.

"Y-yes, hello?!"

"Hello?" asks a smooth, male voice.

"Yes?" she asks again, impatient.

"Am I talking with Hermione Granger?"

"Yes.." she draws it out, maybe frowns her eyebrows too.

"I was calling about the announcement?"

"The annou- oh, _oh_ yes! The announcement! About the roommate?"

"Correct."

He sounds slightly arrogant, and she doubts he is the right choice for her but don't judge to soon and what not.

Besides. She really needs the money.

"I'd like to meet you first, before we make arrangements. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course." he answers.

"Well, I- oh, sorry, I am running terribly late-"

"Is now inconvenient for you?"

"No, no! Just a sec- _where are my keys?_ Aha! Yes, so.. uhm?"

She closes the door behind her, all but running down the stairs.

"The appointment?" he sounds amused, _the bastard_.

" _Yes!_ If you could come by this evening, say around.. eight?"

"I'll be there."

"Good. Then we'll discuss the details- Oh, and your name?"

He laughs softly.

"The name is Tom Riddle. I'll see you this evening, then?"

"Yes, this evening."

She hangs up, gets into her car and curses when she sees she forgot her purse. Much later Hermione would realize that was always the effect Tom Riddle had on her. Slightly unnerving, unbalancing, making her world spin _just_ a little bit different, just enough to make her lose her equilibrium.

Just enough for him to be able to catch her.

 ** _In Between_**

 _You freeze. You go in shock. Was that a movement there? There should not be a movement._

 _But when you turn, there is nothing there._

 _You turn again, and again something moves out of the corner of your eyes. You don't dare to look a second time. You pretend everything is alright, and if you walk just a little faster you will reach safety._

 _But when you're almost there, you slow down, you look around more fully, letting your eyes take everything in (never realizing this could be the last time you do so). There is nothing out of the ordinary. You are alone, yes (are you?) but you are used to it. There are some birds picking at things between branches and they are the only moving beings, unless you count the leaves being ruffled gently by the wind._

 _You have taken this path between the trees since you were little, know every stone and every tree and when you look around it is only a cursory look to catalogue eventual differences. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing dangerous here._

 _You slow down, you smile, you enjoy the sun, you let your leather shoe scuff between the fallen leaves._

 _There was never a movement._

 _You ignore the chilling sensation of being watched, you do not turn around again, ignoring every instinct that is screaming at you to do so, and you force your shoulders to slouch with some form of easy confidence, instead of maintaining the tensed up position that is bad for your game._

 _You shrug it off._

 _You ignore it._

 ** _Wrong._**

 _You should never ignore your instincts._

 **129 Days Before**

He is.. _handsome._

Staggeringly so.

Grey eyes look at the world, separated from each other with a aristocratic nose. His cheekbones are high, his cheeks slightly rosy, his lips curved elegantly, his eyebrows make him look sharp, intelligent, without looking cruel.

His skin is smooth, and maybe just too pale. Porcelain. He looks like porcelain. Surreal in his beauty.

Yes. Surreal. That's the right word. She.. she _senses_ something about him. He also seems vaguely familiar. As if a shadow from a dream.

"Hermione Granger?" he asks, offering his hand.

"Tom Riddle." she says, accepting it.

He curls his fingers around it, the warmth of his skin surprising, and gives a firm, solid handshake. A good one.

"I must say, I expected something quite different." he remarks after she shows him what would become his room.

"Not good?" she asks, her heart sinking.

"No, I like it. The price you stipulated is very.. adequate. Yes. I think I'd like to take it."

"If you're not sure you can always decide later."

"Oh, I am sure" he smirks, "are you, Miss Granger?"

Something in her sees this as a challenge, but she shrugs it off.

"Hermione, please. Yes."

"Good. I'll move in tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Too soon?"

"No, no it's.. perfect."

He nods and then.. he smiles.

 **114 Days Before**

"You're very lucky, Hermione. But be quick, because there are only two weeks left before he strikes again and Kingsley will be back from his meeting any moment."

"Yeah, sure. Is everything still how it was?"

"Yes, yes" he sounds rushed, "the murder photographs, the theories, the evidence.."

"Okay. I'll let you know if I find something useful."

He nods, but he doesn't seem convinced.

Hermione waits until he has left before she pulls out her camera and her notebook, not wanting him to see how extensive her research has become.

 **111 Days Before**

Live with Tom Riddle.. It is amazing.

She has long days, and it is really nice to be able to come home to dinner and conversation. He cooks really well, and he is a brilliant conversation partner. He is.. brilliant _everything_.

It is so nice to be able to converse with someone who can follow her line of thought and even say things she has not yet thought of. So nice to finally feel _challenged_ by someone. Books, math science, politics, philosophy, they have discussed everything and more.

Yes. Live with Tom Riddle is amazing.

And if she notices his secrecy and odd behaviour, she honestly doesn't care. So yes, he keeps his bedroom door locked and is evasive about his past and job, but he probably just really likes is privacy. She can respect that. She likes hers too. And the strange flicker in his eyes sometimes must be just a trick of light.

He is charming and kind, so Hermione tells herself to stop being so awfully paranoid.

She ignores it.

She shrugs it off.

 **101 Days Before**

The disarming view that greets her when she walks in leaves her with a ridiculous smile on her face, but she can't help it. She has never seen him looking quite so _innocent_ as he is now, lying on the couch. It must have been a tiring day, and really any other day she would just creep past him, but today she can't.

It has been seven weeks.

She sinks to the wooden floor, cross legged and turns the TV on, making sure that the volume is low enough for her to still understand without waking him.

The news ring comes on and Rita Skeeter appears, looking as composed as ever, with her hawk like eyes on the camera and red nails holding the information papers. The location appears to be the Kensington gardens.

It is the first time he has ever chosen such a public place. In broad daylight no less. Harry was right.

He _is_ getting bolder.

Rita starts explaining how the new victim was found and how they know it is The Voldemort killer again just as Tom stirs behind her.

"Hermione?" he mumbles, sleepily, and she smiles, keeps paying attention to the TV too, "what are you doing on the floor?"

"I didn't want to wake you," she murmurs back, and he smiles at her, reaches a hand out to push a lock behind her ear, _her heart melts._

"What are we watching?"

"Oh just the news."

He nods, stands up and offers her his hand to pull her up. She accepts it, and something sticky and hard rolls on her palm. Tom's nails are dirty, encrusted with dirt and something.. darker-

"- young man, half buried behind the bushes,-"

\- the dirt isn't sticky, it's _dry_ but the other thing is, and she feels it on her skin as he pulls her with him to the couch-

"-entified as famous football player, Cedric Diggory, number seven-"

\- she _knows_ Cedric. He was in her school. Tom makes her sit down next to him, offers her a puzzled face as he lets go of her hand, she instinctually rolls the dirt around in her palm-

"- Seemed mud at first, but it is clearly blood-"

-dark and sticky-

"- Autopsy reports will reveal more about his death, and maybe give the police that hint they have been lacking-"

\- she turns wide eyes to Tom, who just returns her questioning face-

"- Will The Voldemort Killer be caught, before it is too late for yet another victim? Thank you for watching. This was Rita Skeeter, covering reporter of these gruesome cases."

"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asks, except it does not really sound like a question at all.

 _What is that on your hands, am I being paranoid, why are you looking at me like that, where were you today, what did you do-_

"I knew him," she says, gesturing to the TV, her voice cracking.

His face turns sad.

"I'm sorry," he offers as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

She leans her head against him and keeps rolling the dirt in her palm.

Later, after Tom told her of his failed gardening attempts, she scrubs her hands until they are red and raw and looks really hard at the mirror, where haunted, tired eyes stare back at her.

It is the first night she ever considers stopping with her research, just burning it all.

 _(She stays up 'till four in the morning, pouring over her notebooks. It is the first time she admits to being addicted to this, and it sounds ugly, even in her own head)_

 **After**

"Quite ingenious isn't it? My own invention, of course, though I have to commend you, Hermione. I never thought you would come as close as you actually did"

Hermione grits her teeth, tries to stop it, but-

She has always been a curious girl.

"How does it work?" she asks, and tries to play it off as if she is not really interested.

He smirks, showing perfect white, sharp, straight teeth.

"Maybe I'll tell you, one day." he hedges.

 _Or maybe you won't live to see that day_

Their eyes lock.

She gulps and looks away quickly.

It had always bothered her-

 _That emptiness_ _in his eyes._

Reflection of his soul.

 ** _In Between_**

 _Picture this: a flowery field. Or a rainy autumn day. A room full of candles, your father baking._

 _Smell is one of the most forgotten senses. We smell something every minute of our day, but unlike sound, or sight, we only notice when it's really strong. We sniffle when it smells good, and scrunch our noses up when it smells badly. And that's it. That's all we do with it._

 _You smile as the sweet aroma fills your nostrils, recognizable, home. You relax, you walk a little slower._

 _But then something else is in the air, something heavy, pungent, rotten decay. It mixes with the other smells, corrupts them in a way and the sweetness is now sticky and heavy, no longer natural._

 _Something is not right. That's what smell tries to tell us. Yes, freshness is nice, it's healthy. Rotten things are not._

 _And this, this definitely isn't._

 _The smell grows stronger with each step you take, and it's so strong now it leaves a bad taste on your tongue- coppery almost._

 _Something is wrong, something is wrong, somethingiswrong- and every instinct you have tells you to turn around and leave this place you have been familiar with since you were little._

 _You ignore it._

 _You keep walking. You scrunch up your nose, breathe through your mouth and shrug it off._

 _You ignore it._

 ** _Wrong._**

 _You should never ignore your instincts._

 **91 Days Before**

"It's criminology you study, right?"

"Yes, why?" she answers, looking up from her textbook.

"Oh no, I was telling a friend of mine this morning, but I wasn't sure anymore."

"Oh, " she laughs, "well you guessed right."

"Lucky me," he winks, "so, what's your most interesting class?"

"That would be.. criminal behaviour studies."

He looks her over, appreciating. "I wouldn't expect that."

"Yeah, most people say that. But I find it terribly fascinating. Our professor told us that he would be able to commit the perfect murder, but that he wouldn't tell us how. And then we spend our first class discussing cases where killers were never caught, and well, that's how it became my favourite class."

"I do see the appeal," he muses. Then he gives her a teasing look: "Committing a perfect murder, huh? But no one has ever succeeded in that have they?"

"Well, there are many things that could go wrong of course. Nobody is perfect," she shrugs, "but there are loads of people who have gotten pretty close."

"Like?"

"Well, Jack The Ripper, maybe. Also,.. the recent ones.."

"The Voldemort Killer?" he asks, his voice low, bending forward.

She laughs nervously. "The man is a ghost. He killed Cedric in broad daylight, in the woods and there were no witnesses. Actually on a path through the woods. A fairly travelled one according to detectives."

"Perhaps," Tom says simply, "what do you think his motive is? Why does he do it?"

His question sounds urgent, but when she throws him an alarmed glance he looks as relaxed as ever. As relaxed as one can be when talking about a psychopathic maniac anyway.

"I- I don't know, really.. An urge to prove he is better than others? To prove he can get away with it? A sort of satisfaction- not sexual. Maybe he is just sadistic and enjoys their pain. Maybe he cannot control himself and it will be only a matter of time before he gets caught.. but I don't believe that. I tend to-"

"Tend to what?"

"I lean towards a highly talented serial killer. Brilliant, but mad. Highly intelligent, but feels no emotions. Meticulous. A planner. Experience in the medical sector. And he has done it before. Maybe not in England, but definitely has done it before. He wouldn't be able to live without it. I also believe there is no randomness in the choosing of his victims, even though he kills men and women, so there is no preference in gender, nor race."

She tracks his expression carefully, looking, looking for something but he remains impassive, casually interested.

"You seem to have put a lot of thought into him." he remarks, at last.

She laughs, nervously.

"Don't take me wrong, but it is.. let's say, a guilty pleasure of mine. Though I do hope he gets caught soon. He is getting bolder, more gruesome. More dangerous."

"Deadly"

"Oh, he always has been."

"And you're sure he is a man?"

"I find it highly unlikely for the killer to be a woman. Though there is a certain finesse in the way he kills, there is a lot of strength necessary, and that tends to indicate a male suspect."

"And how would you know all these.. intricate details of the murders?" he sounds oddly threatening, but his face is still fully composed.

"I watch the news, Tom. The press has been dealing so badly with this cases that they have given the killer- and anyone who wants to play copy cat- free reign. It's atrocious."

He snorts "Yes, the press has been quite helpful to the police department. Though I doubt Voldemort letting a mere copycat imitate him"

"You make a fair point," she muses, "his ego is much too big for that."

He laughs "Maybe you're right."

And somehow, somehow during their conversation, she ends up snuggled up at his side, his arm thrown over her shoulders and both nursing a glass of wine, and giving far too much information and knowledge away.

 **86 Days Before**

"Don't. Say. A. Word. About. It" Harry whispers at her incredulous look, "don't say a word. We'll talk _later_ "

" _What_ but Harr-" It comes out as a whine.

"shush, shush!"

"Harry-"

"Oh yes I can totally sense it," says the _totally oblivious_ blonde walking next to them. "The killer lives really close. Like here" she points to a building, and Hermione rolls her eyes.

"You are pointing to my building actually" Hermione informs the girl drily.

"Oh.." she trails off, turning to look at Hermione "my senses have never been wrong before." She informs in an offhand kind of way, cocking her head to study Hermione more intensely.

It's unnerving.

Hermione shrugs it off, rolls her eyes at the dreamy look on the other girl and sighs: "Let's go in, then? Or do your senses forbid you from doing that?"

"No, let's go in. Please" she nods, looks around again, and her eyes widen a little, as if she has seen something someone else hasn't "Tell me Hermione, have you ever sensed something weird about another inhabitant of your building? When people kill, they get a different aura. People close to the murderer might pick it up too" she explains, looking between her and Harry.

"You'll have to explain your wonderful taste to me later, Harry" she hisses at him as they walk inside, not bothering to respond the blonde girl.

"yes, yes-" he says tiredly, and then: "Luna, c'me here please"

"Oh sure, Harry. You know, you two have a different aura too. Maybe it's because you research the killer"

Luna Lovegood, Hermione thinks appraising the girl while Harry listens to her theories, an odd name for an odd girl.

 _(Later, when she has seen more of Luna's work, Hermione will retract that statement. Instead of disdain she will look at Luna and will grudgingly feel admiration and approval, along with appraisal and will think:_

 _Luna Lovegood. An unique name for an even more unique girl.)_

 **84 Days Before**

"She is so- _ugh_ , Harry. She believes that _elves_ exist!"

"Hermione. Listen to me," He sounds furious and Hermione is shocked, "she is a bit eccentric, I know, but underneath that she has actually pretty keen observation skills and has come with various extremely important insights. Now, since the source is frowned upon in my office, and I can't seem to get you of these cases anyways I thought I'd combine. You two are the most valuable and close things we- _I_ have to catching this guy. So please. Make it work."

"Yes, sir," she quips, going over the information in her head, and Harry grins at her, grateful, and takes another bite of his chicken.

 **79 Days Before**

"Tom, can I come in?"

Muffled: "A second please," before he appears at the door. She notices he is careful in holding the door just so she cannot see inside.

When he notices she notices he gives her a disarming grin and says "It's quite messy, I'd hate you to see it, since you always maintain everything in order"

"So do you.." she says, suspicious. It was one of the reasons he had wanted to hire with her, he had told her later. And since he always was so meticulous she really cannot phantom his room being.. _messy._

He grins, disarmingly, "Exactly. But lately I haven't been home much and I still need to clean it. Did you need to talk with me about something?"

"Uh, yeah, I wanted you to look over my essay- if you want to of course."

"Sure, Give me a minute and I'll come" he pauses and sniffs "Do I smell popcorn?"

"Oh, yes, I'm making some to watch a movie later."

"Great. Which one?"

"I cannot choose between 'My Sister's Keeper' and 'Cheaper by the Dozen'."

"My sister's Keeper is hardly a popcorn-movie," he frowns, "why don't you go put on the second one and I'll join you in a second. I'll read your essay while we watch it."

"Oh yeah sure.. okay."

"Good," he smiles, and closes the door.

The smell of burning popcorn gets her away from the door.

 **70 Days Before**

He stands a tad too close to her when he greets her, puts his hand on her elbow and presses his lips to her cheek in greeting.

"Hello Hermione" he smiles, lopsided and then steps away to sling an arm around a tall, leggy blonde who is glaring daggers at her, "Meet Lavender, my new girl."

"Hi Lavender," Hermione nods, and gets a cool nod in return.

She is saved from having to start an awkward conversation when Harry appears, with her favourite redhead in town.

"Harry!" she greets, throws her arms around them both.

"Hullo Hermione," Harry laughs.

"Hi!" says Ginny, and then "So, where is the tall, dark and handsome roommate we all still haven't met? Or is he absent today as well?"

"Oh, please Gin, you've only come back twice since you left, and now all you care about is my roommate" Hermione pouts, feigning being wounded, "besides don't you have your own handsome roommate?"

"You know I love you, Hermione" Ginny winks, "but seriously, I do wanna meet this gu- oh, hi there!"

"Hi,.. Ginny? I am the tall, dark and handsome roommate. Though you can call me Tom"

Ginny gapes, then frowns for a second, but she smiles as she shakes his hand. Harry and the rest are introduced too while Hermione gets the pizza.

"What was that all about?" Tom whispers, gesturing at Ron and Lavender making out rather enthusiastically on her couch.

"Oh.. well we used to have a bit of history," Hermione shrugs.

"History?" Tom asks, ignoring Ginny's frown as she listens to the conversation.

"Yes. We used to be engaged.. before he decided he wanted an upgrade.. while we were still together."

"Hermione," Ginny hisses, "You know Lavender Brown and the girls before her aren't upgrades. Please. They are downgrades."

"I'm sorry," Tom offers, and turns to inspect Lavender with a quizzical look in his eyes.

Ginny frowns and Hermione shrugs and tries to stop her train of thought.

 **After**

"I believe Myrtle was the first one, wasn't she, Hermione?"

"There was never any mention of a Myrtle on the news" she remarks.

"Ah, my mistake," he says and he _laughs_ and she grits her teeth, "yes I do understand how the police wasn't able to connect her to the others. She was quite _different_. But at the same time, the close bond she had with Professor Umbridge, Didn't she teach you, too, some time before that?- Molecular and _cellular_ biology- it should have been a huge clue should it not? With all Voldemort's obsession with immortality? Do you wonder sometimes, where that came from?"

"No," she snaps, "I think I'm quite sure already"

"Of course," he muses, "the bad thing about obsessions is that it can get you killed, even if you obsess in immortality. Though Voldemort is _so_ brilliant, I don't think it'll happen. And much less get _caught_ , obviously."

He says this in a mocking tone and Hermione hates him with all her might.

 ** _In Between_**

 _Of all our senses taste is probably the most enjoyable one. Yes, a sunset can captivate our attention, we can keep looking at a beautiful painting for ages, or we can close our eyes and enjoy a good song, letting it fill us as we listen to it._

 _But a good dish? A delicacy? That feeling of wonder and oh we take a bite and let the taste mix together? Slightly sour, a bit sweet, something to savour? We can maybe even make a little moan, or close our eyes, keep eating until the plate is empty, then take some more._

 _It is truly enjoyable._

 _You take a bite, and your eyes flutter shut. Slowly moving the food inside your mouth, you open your eyes again to level them on the person across from you. Both of you smile, and tongues drag across lips to catch every drop of juice._

 _Satisfied you lift your glass to your mouth, as the other cuts another piece of the meat and eats it. Chewing slowly, eyes meet yours again, but there is something.. off. They're filled with.. knowing? Cruelty?_

 _That can't be right._

 _Your wine has a bitter aftertaste, and the room suddenly becomes very hot. Thirsty you drink again, noticing the bitter taste becoming more prominent._

 _Your hands are shaking a bit, and your company's mouth is stretched in a thin, triumphant smile, and eyes set hard, and cold._

 _There is something wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Sweet things are necessary for energy-rich nutrients, salty for minerals, but bitter.. bitter is dangerous._

 _Bitter is wrong._

 _You debate on spitting the wine out, but it would not be polite. Surely there is just something wrong with it. When the other one takes a gulp too you'll speak up, lightly, you'll laugh a little. and then you'll both open another bottle._

 _Every instincts screams at you to put the wine down, but you take one final swallow, putting the glass down, and turn your attention back to the meal, refusing to acknowledge the company._

 _You shrug it off, and impatiently wipe beads of sweat from your forehead._

 _Or maybe, maybe this time it is different. Maybe this time you don't shrug it off. You_ _ **notice**_ _something is wrong and you try to change it. You try to stay in control._

 _You jump up, run to the door. only.. there is something weird with your legs. You can't feel them, oh god why can't you feel them? There are tingles running over your body and you almost can't walk and when you reach the door.. It is locked._

 _And your body betrays you. Before you can find the key you fall and you hear a sickening crack but you don't_ _ **feel**_ _it. Your fingers scratch the floor in some last attempt at resisting, escaping- living and your nails get caught in the rough carpet. It is too late. Your beautiful dinner mate has stood up from the dinner table, and hollow steps approach you, coming closer, closer still_

 _Either way, you did a stupid thing didn't you? Because you ignored your senses, your instincts and you swallowed the wine. Swallowed it and drank more._

 _You ignored it._

 ** _Wrong._**

 _You should never ignore your instincts._

 **52 Days Before**

"Did.. something happen?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I cut myself" he gestures behind him, to the kitchen, and she cranes her neck to see, but can't.

"Oh," she mutters, feeling stupid, doubting herself for the hundredth time.

It just can't be, really.

Can it?

"Well, do you want me.. to look at it?" she rushes the last part out, and forces herself to look up, into dark blue eyes. (she is almost positive there is no wound.)

"That's really kind of you, Hermione," he says softly, smiles even, "Let me see if I can manage, and if not, I'll ask you? If that's all right?"

"Oh, yeah, sure" she mutters, "I'll go clean up the kitchen then"

"I already did," he answers, smiles again.

He always smiles.

"Oh" she says again, and winces at herself.

"Well.. if that-"

"Yes, yes, sure, I mean, go, yes, I-"

He laughs then, leaves her feeling even more awkward. She debates with herself after he locks the door to the bathroom. Kitchen/bedroom/kitchen/bedroom?

Bedroom, she decides, telling herself she is acting like a stupid, paranoid girl, and decides to not look at the news this evening.

She also tries to forget the silver glint she thought seeing as the bathroom door closed.

 **51 Days Before**

Lavender Brown is dead.

Lavender Brown was murdered.

Lavender Brown was murdered _with a knife._

Hermione breathes, in-out, in the darkness of her flat, waiting for Tom to come home, waiting for she does not know what.

 **30 Days Before**

"Wait, wait Harry, repeat that please. Are you _sure?_ " her voice sounds very urgent, very high and her heart is beating twice as fast because if it's true, _if it's true_ and Hermione has no trouble connecting the dots to know what that might mean for her.

"Yes, Hermione, yes!" he sounds excited, he sounds happy, triumphant, "I told you, I told you she was the best!"

"So what have you got?" she asks, speaking very fast, because she needs to know.

"Nothing yet- Luna wants to wait until she is sure, and you are the only one I dare to tell," he lowers his voice a bit, "not everyone here is quite trustworthy"

"Good," Hermione sighs, "so it's almost over, huh?"

"Almost over," Harry agrees, "listen I've got to go now, but I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Sure Harry, be safe."

"You too, Hermione," and then he is gone.

Hermione stands, blinking, phone clenched in her hand. There is a cough behind her and she turns, wide-eyed, startled. " _Tom!"_

He chuckles "sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" and moves past her.

"How long have you been standing there?"

He shrugs, throws her a disarming smile "I'm hungry, are you?"

"No , actually I'm not," she snaps, "I think I may go to bed early."

"Good night," he calls out. She does not bother to reply, her mind spinning.

 **24 Days Before**

"What is the matter with you lately?" he asks her one day, smiling lightly, amused, "you have gotten so.. twitchy"

"Have I?" she mutters, distractedly, as she starts shrugging out of her coat.

He extends his hand and she frowns at it, not sure what he is hinting at. Her eyes do a slow trek from his long-fingered, elegant hand to his face and find his eyes already on hers, one eyebrow raised. When he sees her questioning glance his lips purse a bit and he takes her coat to hang it up.

Her shoulders relax a little, and she looks down, feeling silly for the expectation and want coiling up in her stomach but before she can take a step away he is back, standing just too close to be respecting distance and just too far away to be personal.

"I-" she starts to whisper, before realizing, belatedly, that she really does not know what to say. Or what to feel for that matter. He is brilliant, handsome but- her instincts scream not to trust him, to not forget the odd occasions there have been.

Her body and mind scream at her to fall for this man, arms wide, so there's that too.

He shakes his head, just one quick shake and lifts a hand- the room around them is thick with anticipation and when his fingers finally, finally brush her skin they both exhale.

His fingers start on a slow path from her cheek towards her collarbone, and then over it to her cleavage and his pads are rough and it is maybe one of the most erotic moments of Hermione's life. Just this, inches between them and fingers igniting every inch of skin they touch.

She looks up and he is already looking at her, eyes dark and hooded. When she touches his cheek, presses her palm against it, he closes his eyes and leans into the touch. His hand hovers a second more above her collarbone before he drops it to wrap around her waist, his hand fisting her shirt at her hip. Drawing her to him slowly, his other hand takes hers from his face, entwines their fingers and kisses her.

It's just a gentle press at first but when she relaxes into him he becomes bolder, more intense. He nibbles at her lower lip until she opens her mouth, and he kisses her softly, but insistent, tongue flicking out to meet hers against her lips.

She literally _melts_ into the kiss, kissing him back, forgetting all her worries, and when he caresses her breasts, tugging at her nipples, when his hand goes further down, when he leads her to her bedroom with a mumbled promise of how good it will be, she lets him, fully intent on getting him out of his clothes as fast as she can.

And it _is_ good. Very good even. And when she wakes up the next morning to see him bake pancakes without shirt and pants low on his hips.. Hermione knows she is doomed.

 **16 Days Before**

It all starts going downhill very fast, very soon.

She kisses Tom on days she isn't sure what is real and what is not, has sex with him on days she has drunk a little bit too much wine and needs to forget-

They always end up in her room, never in his, never in his, and she thinks she knows what it means now.

She is not brave, she is not reckless, she is a stupid, scared little girl who doesn't know what to do- until one day she does.

Until one day she does.

She throws herself into research with a quiet calm and determination, makes the voices in her head finally _shut up_ gets out all her notes and writes a name above them, in neat block letters and sets to work.

 _Alexander Peverell_

 _Evelyn Bosco_

 _Jacqueline Bosco_

 _Cedric Diggory_

 _Lavender Brown_

She writes down locations and timestamps, writes down methods and anomalies. She tries to remember every drop of information she has on his past- _which is nearly not enough at all_ and searches Tom Riddle on the web.

She has to browse through four Google pages before she finds a tiny, tiny article, from a _Canadian_ newspaper but it is enough. It tells her all she needs to know.

 _Tom Riddle, star pupil, saves his school again._

 _After he discovered the giant snake that lived under the school, saving fellow classmates from the monster, he unravelled the murder of another classmate._

 _As our loyal readers will remember, the poor girl died a few days ago (for all the details see the link below)-_

The article goes on about the gruesome death of the girl, and ends with a phrase meant to be witty but is only corny- _It seems we have a young Sherlock in our midst! Detectives should watch out, you're up for some competition._

There are links down the page, about his prizes, his studies (psychology, forensic science, of course, of course) even his parents tragic death is covered fully, and the search for a brilliant missing boy two months after he graduated University of Toronto with highest honours.

With trembling hands she searches through old police reports and unsolved murder cases, finds some information here and there, plays connect the dots until she is sure she has figured it out.

And it is brilliant, of course. No one would have ever guessed. Even she has still trouble believing it.

And then it suddenly stopped.

 _Because he crossed the ocean to start again._

 **3 Days Before**

"Have you heard?" Tom asks calmly, leaning against the wall, effectively caging her in.

"Heard what?" she breathes out, a bit panicky.

"That blonde girl that was here a while ago- Luna? She has been found dead"

"Oh no," Hermione's eyes widen, "how?"

He is scrutinising her, eyes flicking between hers, and it makes her very self conscious.

"Like the others, I guess" he shrugs, keeps his tone light, "you're the specialist, aren't you Hermione?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, angry now. He has no right to sound so accusing- _oh_ Harry is going to be devastated. She wonders if Luna had already told him something, but she doesn't think so, because he would have called her if she had.

Tom's eyes are still tracking her face, and the silence between them is getting heavy. Just as she is calculating how to move past him, he reaches out, takes her arm and draws her to him.

He kisses her gently, insistently. Kissing, drawing back, and Hermione's breath leaves her in a sigh as the knot in her stomach tightens. Again, lightly and he draws back just as she starts to press back. Once more, and his fingers tangle in her hair. Hermione grips his shirt to keep him from retreating and when she opens her mouth he follows with his tongue.

It is the start of a slow burn that leaves her forgetting everything but his name and after it is over, he peppers slow kisses across her skin. She is too tired to even try to understand so she just wraps her arms around him and cradles his head, giving in to the call of sleep.

 **2 Days Before**

Three knocks on the door and when she opens it, a blur of black nearly knocks her of her feet. She lifts her arms, wraps them around him automatically and he leans his forehead against hers, his eyes drilling into hers-

He is not really seeing her though, because they are slightly unfocused with the way they seem to be looking _into_ her instead of at her, and the green is too bright and intense on her.

"I am so sorry, Harry," she whispers, cradling his head, and she can hear him gulp audibly, and when he blinks the tears spill over and form a track on his cheeks.

"We are lost, Hermione. We are _lost_."

She guides him to the sofa, settling him down and busying herself with making tea. Harry is staring through the window when she comes back, and she knows he is looking at something she would never be able to see.

It is probably not considerate of her, but she needs to know, and she thinks talking might help him. "What did she tell you?"

He shakes his head, just a fast movement before closing his eyes and putting his head into his hands. " _Nothing._ She was actually going to meet someone the night she died. She said she believed that would bring her the last knowledge she needed, and she would be able to complete the puzzle. She wouldn't say absolutely nothing though. I don't even know which _gender_ the person was, though I am reasonably sure it was the murderer."

"Yes, that does seem likely," Hermione mutters, trying to recall every detail of that night, "she was poisoned, right?"

"Yes," Harry laughs, short, fake and derisive amusement, "In her _own_ apartment. At dinner. And the killer did not even leave a fingerprint. We only found the ones from a few days ago, when you and I went to visit, remember? Little did we know it would become a crime scene afterwards obviously."

Hermione blinks in shock, tracking Harry's expression. There is anger there, and hatred. All directed at himself. "Harry, you can't blame yourself. You need to stay rational and calm. These things happen. You've warned me for it the whole time too. Luna wasn't careful enough, and it's tragic, but there is nothing you could have done to prevent it. He would have gotten you too and we both know it. What we need to do now is go over everything she ever told us. There must be clues, there. Have you searched her apartment?"

He makes a guttural sound, hanging his head. "There is nothing, Hermione. Nothing," and he sounds like crying, "I have looked a _thousand_ times, I have gone over it, if I could I'd even take the memories out of my head to observe them. I think the killer searched her place, but- he seriously is a ghost. And he is going to murder again, and again, and _again_ and I can do nothing to prevent it."

Desperation and it's ugly. Hermione feels a strange mixture of emotions coiling in her gut. She hates watching him like this, and her head feels like it's bursting, like the blood vessels are expanding and pressing against it, but leaving her numb at the same time. She is so ready for this to be _over_ , to be able to breathe in peace, and not wonder, fear, wait for something that will inevitably come. And yet, and yet, when she heaves a sigh it's out of relief. Relief, and it fills up her lungs, tells her that this isn't the day her world ends, that she can keep going.

Her head shoots up, her eyes wide and her heart in her throat. Next to her Harry looks up and mutters a disorientated greeting, his hand clamping hers and she- she smiles at Tom, scolding herself and trying to place the look on his face. It's amused, and disbelieving as he looks at the position they are in, at her relaxed face as she consoles the boy, the man next to her.

They have a fight, later, Hermione mad at him because he was listening in to a private conversation, watching a private moment. Tom is derisive, unpleasant. "Poor Luna," he says, and he sounds _mocking_ , "and what a _tragedy_ it is she didn't leave any information behind, right Hermione?"

"I don't know what you are insinuating," she yells, her voice shrill, "but someone _died_ , more people have, and you only seem concerned with my reactions. Do you really feel no empathy whatsoever? Luna's dead _was_ a tragedy and Voldemort should be stopped!"

"Oh, yes," he laughs, taking a step towards her, " _he_ should _definitely_ be stopped. Seems to get only bolder and more aggressive, doesn't he? Seems to always be one step ahead of the police. I wonder how that could be."

She narrows her eyes at him, stepping away, and he narrows them right back, matching her step with another one. "I wonder too," she says softly, "I wonder very much. He seems to have close and personal relations to the people most involved in the case, does he not?"

"Yes he does," Tom sounds like he is talking to a small child, encouraging as he takes the last step "A _very_ close relationship. Intimate even."

Her back is almost against the wall now and they are almost chest to chest, only inches between them, both breathing heavily, neither backing down. She feels there is something she should get, feels he is hinting at a lot of things, but she can't quite put her finger on them..-

"What's the matter, Hermione? You seem confused." He sounds pitying, but the quirk of his mouth betrays his amusement.

She raises her hand, intent on striking him _hard_ but he catches it deftly, and slams her into the wall.

"Not so fast, little girl," he mutters against her lips, "I am not quite done with you." and then his mouth is claiming hers, _biting_ at her lips, his hands touching every part of her body they can reach, clenching and pinching and _punishing_ , and when he tugs at her thighs she follows his lead, wrapping her legs against his hips and driving her nails into his back.

 **1 Day Before**

 _"_ _What are you doing here?"_

"Oh," he smiles, "I was looking for my sock. I forgot it, the other day"

"Your.. sock"

"Yes. I'm sorry, I should have waited until you came home."

"Yes, you should have." she retorts. "I'm going to shower now so.."

He gives her a once over, and winks. "Nothing I haven't seen before, is it? In fact, if you'd like some company.."

"Get out of my room, Tom."

There is a suspicious bulge in his jacket pocket, and she keeps looking at the door long after it has closed.

 **1 Day Before**

Hermione drops her keys onto the dresser, raising her hand to rub her tired eyes and-

She crosses the room in three steps, picking it up and drawing it against her chest. Her breathing is halted, and her heart is beating twice as fast as it should.

 _It's the black one, it's the black one, it's only the black one._

"You're early!" he exclaims. Pausing to scan her face, he adds "Something the matter?"

"In fact, _yes_. Mind explaining this to me?"

"Oh, yes, I thought it was my diary, but when I noticed it was yours I left it on the table."

She snorts. "So _considerate_ of you. Just a tiny problem. I can't recall ever taking it out of it's dra- my room."

He shrugs. "It was lying around Hermione. I didn't read it, I swear."

She doesn't bother replying, turns around to her room because the doubt has been growing stronger and stronger the past months, constantly nagging her brain.

She heads directly to her closet and sinks down onto her knees.

And-

Her stuff is gone.

Well part of it is, but the most important is missing.

All her _notes_ , her details from the killings, from the reports, from the crime scene footage. Her observations.

Everything.

She had kept it all neatly in a green notebook, and that notebook is _missing_ now.

Everyone who lays hands on it will know _everything_. And she has a very good thought on who it could be.

Snorting, she recalls the article. _Youngest Sherlock ever._ Right. It doesn't matter anyways, it doesn't matter, because Hermione knows what she has to do and _she will do it._

She is Hermione Granger, and she has never failed before.

Now the only thing left to do is wait until the opportunity presents itself.

 _And strike._

 **0 Days Before**

Her heart is beating wildly now, her hands coated with sweat and stay that way no matter how many times she wipes them off her jeans. She knows it's him, she just knows. From the first moment they had met she had sensed something was off-

She just needs _proof_.

Pulling open the second drawer from the left she starts rummaging through the things. It's his underwear drawer, and her hands pause far more than they should.

The image of him in _this_ pair, and then without them..

 _Stop thinking about him that way, Hermione!_ She screams at herself. She knows what he is, she knows what he has _done.._ betrayal and murder and blood and it all whirls around in her head. She knows he has it, she _knows it_ so where is-

Her head whips up, her breath stutters to a halt because of course, of course, how could she have been so stupid? How much time has she lived with him now, almost six months, discussing politics and books and math and science, admiring his intellect, assessing it, noticing how close it came to hers, worshipping his brilliance and yet-

And yet-

She had failed to imagine this.

The front door creaks and then suddenly stops, eerie silence in its place, but too late, it has already revealed the presence of someone else.

And her body betrays her. She remains, kneeling on the wooden floor, with her hand still stuck in his drawer as footsteps sound through the flat.

She imagines the smile, the pale hands, holding shoulders down and a plunging again and again and again and again and again, his face splattered crimson, his teeth coated red..

 _This is it!_ She has what she needs right in her hands, her mind already piercing a strategy together, plans and flawless executions, remembering all the anomalies, every puzzle piece finally falling into place and _she knew it_ and she also knows what to do, knows exactly how she can make it seem, she is Hermione Granger and she _knows._

 _You must do this_ , and then she is jumping up, looking around for something to defend herself with, something to _attack_ , her mind cataloguing all the items in the room quickly, as it is trained to do. The chair (too heavy)- nothing on the bed- nothing on the desk- window (seventh floor)-nightstand _\- the lamp_!

Her hand is already reaching, her body jumping up when something slams itself into her side, and she falls, her head cracking sickeningly and her pinkie sticking out at an unnatural angle.

She rolls over, and he is hovering above her. Panic has her fully in its grip, so without even considering her actions, her knee jerks up fast as his hand moves to her neck and she hits him swiftly in the groin.

He grunts and clutches and she jumps up again, adrenaline thumping through her and only one goal in her mind: _the lamp, the lamp._

She takes two steps and then she is falling forward as a weight is thrown around her legs, her hair is getting into her eyes and mouth and she screams as her hands slam on the floor just before her face does because her pinkie jolts but she refuses to unclench her hand, _she has it, she has it_ and then she yells as her hair is fisted and she is turned around forcefully, her arms now caught behind her back and pinned down by his bodyweight on hers.

The red light of the trap she activated is flickering to her right, (stupid, so stupid) her peripheral registering the glow going off and his eyes appear to reflect it as his mouth turns into that feared, cruel smile. Without thinking, she smashes her head against his. Hard.

He lets go of her, briefly, but does not get of her. However, when he brings his hand to his nose, gingerly assessing the damage, she uses the opportunity to try and scramble away.

In a flash, he is hovering above her again, his legs straddling hers, his hips just above hers. His belt buckle is digging painfully into her soft, slightly rounded underbelly. Her eyes widen, panicked, when she notices something _else_ digging too.

He looks like a monstrous God, his teeth coated red with the blood flowing from his nose, some of it lands on her and it leaves a coppery taste in her mouth, and a sticky trail on her cheeks.

Just before he lowers himself more she does one last attempt, but this time he sees her coming. Before she can hit him again his hands have fastened around her throat. She claws at the floor, wiggles her legs, tries to trust up, up as if the precious oxygen she needs is available if she only manages to go up, tries desperately to think, to remember the brochures she had read about self defence and physical assaults. The elbow.. was.. the strongest but black dots are already swimming around, obstructing her vision and the last thing she sees is red and-

 ** _In Between_**

 _Do you know that feeling, that prickling state of unease, that tells you, screams at you: something is wrong?_

 _You try to ignore it, of course. You tell yourself you are just being ridiculous. You resist the urge to look behind you one more time, and instead force yourself to keep on walking, wanting to go faster, faster,_ _ **fasterfasterfasterfaster**_ _._

 _It's there then, reaching out, almost touching you, but you still don't look back. You aren't able to. There is a monster there, you know, but you try to ignore it, holding on to a childlike, innocent hope of 'if you ignore it, it will go away"_

 _Wasn't that what your mum told you when that boy was teasing you? When those girls where mean to you?_

 _"Just ignore it," she whispered, "everything will be all right"_

 _Just ignore it, when instead you should have fought._

 _But now. Stop. Imagine this instead:_

 _You are not in a dark alley or some sort. You are not alone. There is nothing about your surroundings remotely scary._

 _In fact, it's a sunny day, flowers around you are blooming, and you are eating ice cream with your friends._

 _They are taking you to meet someone, and you are talking, relaxed._

 _That's when you feel it._

 _The feeling._

 _It makes your hairs stand on edge, it makes you uneasy, it tells you, screams at you even, something is wrong._

 _You look around a bit, feel eyes on you. When you meet the face that owns those eyes, it smiles at you. You smile back, reflexively, politely, and when your friends ask you what's wrong, you look away, deny anything is wrong, shrug it off._

 _Shrug it off._

 _Ignore it._

 ** _Wrong._**

 _You should never ignore your instincts._

 _It may cost you your live._

 **After**

But this was never a love story. It was never _meant_ to be a love story- it was always meant to be this: A tragedy.

"You were in quite the hurry, yesterday." She observes lightly, playing with the ropes on her wrists. If she twists her finger just.. _here_ and then the other just.. _there_ \- she grins, and remembers to thank her parents for all the survival camps she had had to participate in, nine years and shy, ten years and angry, eleven and sullen.

He _had_ been in a hurry. Talking on his cell phone and not barely sparing her a glance. He had seemed urgent and he had been speaking in low tones. She hadn't understood nearly enough.

He hums, draws it out, and smirks at her.

"You have been here quite a while, you know Hermione. It's time I decide what to do with you."

Oh she _knows._ She had underestimated him, but he had done the same to her. They had been turning around each other, each one doubting and when she had finally decided to act it had been _too late._

It's so sad. So many things will be lost. She can almost imagine Harry's smile, vibrant, _happy._

She remembers every moment spent with him, remembers how worried he had been for her.

 _'Make sure he is not 'The Voldemort Killer', yeah?' Harry had said laughingly, and Hermione had ignored the seriousness behind his gaze, laughed too, promised to perform a full investigation on every roommate who applied._

She really, really should have done that. If she had, she could have put a stop to this much earlier. She could have worked it out, spin it around, and change the outcome. She could have told him everything she wanted him to know and could have laughed when he gave her that look he did, with wide eyes and a lopsided smile.

 _'Did you just admit you were wrong and I was.._ _ **right**_ _?'_

She would never see Harry smile again. It hits her like a blow to the stomach, but she shakes it off. Because she is Hermione Granger. Because this is what she must do. Because she had always known it could come to this-

Though she had never imagined a scenario quite like this one.

Tom had crept in her life silently, invisibly, he had been perfect and she had ignored her instincts, told herself she was being ridiculous, even when it became clear that he was indeed someone she should be suspicious off-

And look where she was now.

 _But not for long._

She knows the date. She knows what he is planning. She had caught on enough yesterday, had heard enough of the conversation.

 _Revenge._

Best served cold she thinks ruefully, but it's perhaps, the perfect opportunity.

If she is going down- _she's bringing him with her._

The clunk of the plate on the dresser shakes her from her thoughts. It doesn't matter though. She knows his routine by heart by now. The plate, the phone, the knife.

Fixing the balance to be able to take the ropes from her hands and then feed her while he keeps the knife against her throat-

The thing is.. the thing is he is stronger than she is, by far. The knife is simply.. an extra. An indulgence. He likes to see the red drops against her pale skin.

 _Oh, the irony._

He turns, and she gets a look of the plate. She groans internally. Her favourite. What a bad timing.

"Okay, Hermione, you know how it goes, don't you?" his voice is mocking, but she doesn't care. Her fingers just there and she watches him, watches him, just.. another.. step.. _Now._

She scrambles upwards, the ropes falling from her wrists and she smirks at the pure astonishment on his face. He tries to get a better grip but she has the weaknesses mapped out, she is nothing if not meticulous, always has been and all she needs is that one second.

He screams when the soup makes contact with his skin, and she laughs. How many times had she complained about her dinner always being too hot?

You get what you deserve.

He falls backwards when she lungs at him, and she turns the knife, quickly, with nimble fingers. Sits across his chest, straddles his thighs so he cannot move his legs and has the knife on his chest in a heartbeat.

His eyes are wide, and she revels in the panic she sees. The roles are reversed and she knows _he_ knows. She has won.

Victory tastes sweet on her tongue.

"What?" she breathes out a laugh, moves the knife idly, but with precision. Did you think I would just let you? Mister Private Detective Tom Riddle?"

"Hermione-" he tries, but she applies just a little bit of pressure and he shuts up instantly.

"I was so curious about you. From the moment we met I just _knew_ there was something about you. But I was drawn in by your brilliance- and how brilliant you are Tom. Not even Harry figured Myrtle out, and yet you did. You were able to tie her to me and god how didn't I recognise the threat you were earlier? But I was drawn to you, like I said. You're not unattractive either, are you?"

She uses her left hand to stroke the hair away from his face, and smiles sweetly.

"I should have known the Peverells would not simply let the murder of their brother go. And I should have known they would hire the very best- they do have the resources, don't they?"

He tries to move his hands, but she has them pinned under her knees.

"Ah-ah, naughty boy," she coos, and grinds her kneecaps into them.

"Brilliant move," she continues, "working with Luna? Distracting me with the dreamy blond. Oh but I took care of her. The look on her face after she drank that wine. The look when she realised. And _you._ Breaking into my room to get my diary? Did you enjoy reading it? Did you enjoy knowing how I killed them? Is that when you decided you would kill me too? Because you might pretend to be innocent, but that girl's death you solved wasn't just your best friends fault, wasn't it? Young Sherlock?"

His cell phone rings and he uses her momentarily distraction to flip them around. She curses when her hand grazes the knife- it leaves a deep cut, and she is _angry_ now. It's his mistake. She drives the knife deep into his stomach uses his weight on hers, and then simply pushes him off her.

He is gurgling, his hands trying to keep the wound shut.

"Oh, Tom," she whispers, sad, "we would have had so much fun together, you know?"

He _screams_ , loud and she curses, because she knows there are neighbours in this building. And she has heard them enough at night to know the sound isolation is not amazing.

"Goodbye," she says, now, her voice cold. "It was a pleasure knowing you" and she drives the knife deep into his chest, again, and again, until she is covered with blood and his eyes are lifeless on the ceiling.

She goes about searching the room for her diary, but freezes-

She can clearly hear the man telling the woman to call the police and he is coming to the door-

And she doesn't have time.

So she does the one thing she's best at:

 _She disappears._

 ** _Epilogue - Harry_**

"Again!" he yells, and this time, the door falls.

Mister and Miss Banks are standing aside, clutching hands- there is a blood trail in the corridor and Harry's heart clenches in fear- she has been missing almost a month now and his head chants nothing else than her name.

 _Hermione, Hermione, Hermione._

What they find inside is.. not what he expects.

"He's dead," Ron declares, his freckled face pale, "Harry isn't this-"

"Tom Riddle. Her roommate."

His head goes into routine, and he surveys the room with a frightening accuracy. A dresser- drawers open, a chair lying on the ground, a broken plate and soup on the carpet, a knife, and blood, so much blood.

"I want crime scene investigation in here," he asks one of the agents. "the blood in the corridor is probably from the killer, I want fingerprints, I want _names._ "

Dread coils in his gut, and his veins seem frozen, the feeling expanding on his skin and leaving him cold..

 _Hermione._

His steps are measured, when he notices. The corner has a piece of wood lodged between the wall and the edge and it seems to be a hiding spot for something small.. like.. a.. book?

A green journal, a diary.. _Hermione's diary._

But not quite about her _feelings_.

He reads, and he skims the pages and the dates and the _details_ and his mouth has fallen open and he is breathing heavily and he feels as if he will be physically sick by just reading about the way she.. she-

"Sir?" the voice seems to come from far away, and Harry has to blink a few times to get back to the here and now of the situation, "Sir, what do you want us to do? Your friend might be heavily wounded, should we send someone to find her?"

"No..- _yes_ ," he shakes his head, rubs his eyes, speaks clearly: "Call an urgency meeting and put down an APB for Hermione Jean Granger."

"Sir?"

"Now" Harry roars.

He doesn't even recall getting out of that room, into his car. He doesn't recall _driving_ and he is still numb now, a dozen faces looking at him but he has a job and this is what he must do.

Hermione, but she is _not_..- a friend, an _enemy_? A smiling, innocent girl, _just another suspect. Just another._ That's all he can allow her to be.

He has a job and this is what he must do.

"The Voldemort Killer has been identified as Hermione Granger, Caucasian female, brown hair-" _ruffling her curls, laughing about her hair.._ "you'll all find a picture on your desks, together with the information. I want _all units_ working on this. She needs to be found, before she strikes again. Also if _any_ of this information gets leaked to the press, you'll rue the day you were born.. if _she_ doesn't find you first that is. Then you'll have nothing left to rue"

He turned to the picture on the board, Hermione smiling as if she had not a care in the world. Well, she hadn't been the most sought after person in Britain then had she?

"Didn't you know her, sir?" a voice pipes up from the back, careful. Beside him Kingsley's clothes rustle, but Harry stops him.

"No," he says simply, turning back to face his colleagues, "No, it turns out I did not know her at all."

Fin.


End file.
